Ruined

by Amy Tintera

  “Three . . . two . . . one.”

  Em stepped to her left as Jovita approached. It was a slow, careful approach, like the kind Em often saw the most skilled hunters use. The new ones charged her; the veterans took their time.

  They circled for only a moment before Em made the first strike. The room was quiet, the sound of metal meeting metal echoing through the room.

  Someone cheered as they began, and others joined in. Jovita took two quick steps forward, and Em barely blocked the sword before it swiped across her neck. She jumped backward, ducking Jovita’s second attack and rolling across the floor to move to the other side of her. She darted forward, tapping the blade to the center of the girl’s back.

  “One for Mary,” the king said, a hint of surprise in his tone. The crowd cheered.

  One. The first one. Em bounced on the balls of her feet. She’d needed to be first.

  Jovita’s amused expression had faded when she whirled around. She had clearly decided to take Em seriously, and a thrill of excitement ran down Em’s spine.

  She blocked Jovita’s next attack, the crowd roaring as the women circled around, barely blocking each other’s blades. When Jovita faked right, Em fell for it, and the girl jabbed her sword into Em’s chest.

  “One for Jovita.”

  Em barely had time to take a breath before Jovita was coming for her again. The faces and noise around her started to fade away, her focus entirely on the girl in front of her. Her mother had made her practice different types of combat every day when she was younger, and she found fighting almost comforting.

  You were born useless, but you don’t have to be helpless, her mother used to say.

  Em saw an opening and poked her sword straight at Jovita’s stomach, narrowly missing getting a jab in the neck.

  “Two for Mary,” the king said.

  She took a step back, darting away from Jovita. She skirted around the edge of the floor until Jovita growled in frustration. Em darted back into the fight. Sometimes a moment to clear her head was helpful.

  Jovita came at her so quickly she barely saw the movement. The blade was pointed straight at her forehead.

  “Two for Jovita.”

  So much for clearing her head.

  She spun around, getting a better place on the floor so Jovita wouldn’t be able to back her into a corner. She was breathing a bit heavily now, but she was more relaxed than she’d been since her arrival yesterday. She’d have to find someone to spar with every day, or she might lose her mind in this castle.

  Em blocked Jovita’s sword once, twice, three times. Em ducked and dodged, suddenly feeling better than when she’d begun to fight. She darted around the floor, a smile starting to appear on her face.

  When she saw the opening, she used one quick well-placed kick to the legs to bring Jovita down to her knees. Em jumped in front of her, aiming her blade directly at Jovita’s neck. Cheers and applause erupted around the room.

  “Mary wins,” the king yelled over the noise.

  Em kept her sword at Jovita’s neck a beat longer than was necessary. She couldn’t kill her with this sword, but she pictured it for a moment.

  Em swallowed, stepping back and lowering her sword. Jovita got to her feet, a hint of amusement on her face.

  “I suppose it serves me right for underestimating you?”

  Em laughed, pretending to be good-natured about it. She turned away from the girl.

  “Yes, it does,” she muttered under her breath.

  FIVE

  CAS WAS SWEATING under his suit. The windows to the Grand Hall were open and a cool ocean breeze blew through them, but he was stuck in the small, stuffy waiting room right next door with his parents. He thought he might melt before the wedding began.

  “You look nervous,” his father said as he adjusted his son’s collar.

  “I do not.”

  “Well, you have no expression on your face at all, which means you’re nervous.”

  Cas cocked an eyebrow. His father had a way of making everyone smile, and he tried not to give in too easily.

  “I don’t think she likes you much,” the king said with a chuckle.

  The queen let out an annoyed breath and patted her elaborate hairdo. Her dark hair was piled so high on her head, it must have been painful. “She likes him fine. Just yesterday she was asking if I thought he liked her.”

  “And what did you say?” the king asked.

  “I told her the truth. That I didn’t think he’d decided.”

  His father took his mother’s arm. “That must have made her feel much better.”

  It was not unlike his mother to be brutally honest, though she also knew the value of a well-timed lie. Cas was surprised she hadn’t reassured Em with a lie about how he’d been instantly taken with her and was too shy to say so.

  But perhaps it didn’t matter if she knew the truth. They were getting married, regardless of whether or not he liked her.

  Or whether or not she liked him. She’d looked at him like he was a bug under her shoe yesterday when he’d given her the tip about the Union Battle.

  The priest opened the door, his bright-orange robes swinging around his ankles. “We’re ready to begin.”

  Cas turned away from his parents and marched past the priest and into the Grand Hall. The room featured an impressive view of Lera all the way to the ocean through the floor-to-ceiling windows to his left, and flowers and sheer white ribbons lined each of the packed benches down the center.

  He entered so suddenly that the rows of people all jumped to their feet at once, the wooden benches creaking and feet scrambling against the floor. He clasped his hand around his other arm and faced the aisle. He hoped she walked quickly.

  His parents entered behind him and took their seats on the front bench, next to Jovita. All three of them had expressions on their faces like they were happy about something. Cas tried not to look at them.

  The guests shuffled back into their seats, and Cas surveyed the room. Each guest held a cup of wine, which wasn’t customary, but his father must have thought the ceremony could use some livening up. He wasn’t wrong.

  The guests were smiling and whispering, and it smelled like the end of a party, not the beginning. Like alcohol and disappointment and a reminder that tomorrow held a hangover and the usual drudgery.

  How appropriate, Cas thought.

  The door at the back of the room opened, and everyone stood and turned to face Mary. Her gown was a deep, vibrant blue that caught the light as she walked, and her dark hair was piled on top of her head with an intricate series of pearls woven around the strands. The sleeves of the dress just barely covered her shoulders, and her olive skin looked soft and almost luminous.

  Traditionally the mother and father walked on either side of the bride, but she was alone. He knew his parents must have offered to walk with her, and she must have declined. He could understand why.

  He attempted a cheerful expression, but she seemed so miserable he found it hard to meet her eyes. He focused on a spot beyond her head as she made her quick descent down the aisle.

  She stopped in front of him and did not smile. Her lips moved in a way that was meant to convey happiness, but her expression was something closer to terror. They turned to the priest.

  “Let us give thanks to the ancestors who built our world,” the priest said.

  Cas bowed his head, fiddling with a string on the bottom of his jacket.

  “We pray to Boda, with thanks for the body she created for us,” the priest continued. “To Lelana for the fruitful land she bestowed on Lera. To Solia, for the soul that makes us human. And we pray for relief from the monstrous Ruined, who corrupted your gifts.”

  Out of the corner of his eye, Cas saw Mary’s head lift slightly, and he glanced over at her. She was fidgeting, twisting her fingers around, and she quickly stopped when she caught Cas’s eye.

  The ceremony dragged on. Cas didn’t know why the priest felt the need to drone on about love and marr
iage and sacrifice when he knew very well this was a treaty marriage. It was almost rude.

  “And to seal this union,” the priest finally said, signaling they were nearing the end, “we unite our souls with the elements.”

  Cas put out his hands, palms down, and Em did the same. The priest sprinkled a light dusting of dirt on their hands, followed by a splash of water.

  “And we unite our souls with a kiss, to be bound until death. May this union be blessed by the ancestors.”

  Cas turned to Mary. Her hands were shaking so violently it made her shoulders twitch. She took in a ragged breath, swallowing hard. He’d never made anyone tremble in fear before, and this was possibly the worst moment ever to experience it for the first time.

  He leaned forward, and their eyes met briefly as she tilted her head up to his. He barely brushed his lips across hers, and the spectators burst into applause.

  Cas slid his gaze to where Mary was seated at his right. She’d eaten her food, and she kept turning her wineglass around in her hands but never took a sip.

  The room bustled with noise around them. Tables made a half circle around the edge of the Majestic Hall, and a dance floor stretched out in front of them, with the musicians at the other end. The wedding guests were a flurry of color around them—red and orange and green gowns spinning to the music, the men in mostly white or tan, with bursts of color in the forms of flowers on their lapels. No one wore blue, as that was reserved for Em’s dress and the blue flower on Cas’s gray jacket.

  A man approached the head table to offer his congratulations, and Mary plastered a polite expression on her face. He was beginning to know it well—pursed lips, head tilted to the side like she was captivated by the conversation (she wasn’t), and a sigh of relief as the person walked away.

  Galo stood with the other guards against the wall to Cas’s right. Cas pushed out of his chair and stood.

  “I’ll be back,” he said in the general direction of his parents, then quickly walked away before they could protest. He said a brief hello to the governor of the southern province, so he could at least say he was greeting guests if his parents asked.

  Galo stepped away from the wall as soon as Cas approached. They walked a few steps from the rest of the guards, out of earshot, and Cas watched as the people in front of them began dancing to a lively song.

  “I don’t know who looks more miserable, you or your wife,” Galo said, a hint of amusement in his voice.

  Cas winced at the word wife. His father had a wife. All the advisers and governors had husbands or wives. The word didn’t feel like something that should be part of Cas’s life.

  “Can you blame us? She just arrived two days ago.” Cas scanned the room until he found Aren. The guard’s gaze followed Mary, and it occurred to Cas that perhaps he was more than a guard or a friend.

  “Have you gotten to know Aren at all?” he asked, trying to keep his voice casual.

  “A little. He’s clearly not in love with Mary, if that’s what you’re asking. He’s already made an impression on a couple of female guards.”

  Cas shrugged, unwilling to admit that he cared if Mary was in love with someone else.

  “He’s a bit strange,” Galo continued. “He’s got six pins.”

  “So?”

  “So it means he’s killed sixty Ruined, but he’s got the demeanor of a new hunter,” Galo said. “The ones who can’t handle it and come back after the first couple of kills and beg to be reassigned.”

  “What are the hunters like?” Cas asked, turning to him in interest. Galo had never spoken about meeting hunters. Cas couldn’t imagine killing sixty people and then putting a reminder of it on his chest, but the Ruined weren’t exactly people. Still, he wasn’t sure he would be proud of it.

  “The new ones are usually very much like Aren. Damaged. Terrified.” Galo tilted his head toward Aren. “He jumps at loud noises and never takes off his weapon, even when we’re drinking or exercising. He’s on edge all the time, and he never brags about those pins, even when one of the guards pressed him to. The hunters with that many pins . . .” Galo shook his head, a sour expression crossing his face. “They aren’t damaged. They usually enjoy hunting down the Ruined. They’re confident, not scared.”

  Cas glanced at Aren again. “He could have stolen them. Put them on to try and impress us.”

  “It’s likely,” the guard said. “Don’t put him on an important assignment until I can get to know him better. At the very least he’s too traumatized to be in any kind of intense situation.”

  “I won’t. Thank you.” The word traumatized thumped in his brain, making him wonder for the first time how many hunters were currently being employed. Most came from Lera prisons, but there were some from Vallos as well. What would those people do, after they’d killed all the Ruined? Would they be expected to go back to their normal lives like nothing had happened?

  “Mary looks very pretty tonight, don’t you think?” Galo’s words snapped Cas back to the present.

  “Yes.”

  “Have you spoken to her much?” Galo asked slowly.

  “No.”

  “It’s—” Galo cut himself off.

  Cas sighed, turning to his friend. “Free minute.”

  “I don’t need it.”

  “Yes, you do. Say what you want to say. I won’t get mad.”

  Galo lowered his voice when he spoke. “It’s not her fault your parents made you marry her. No one from her kingdom came with her, except for one guard. It must be lonely, don’t you think?”

  Galo was right, of course, though Cas wasn’t going to admit it. But maybe he should have gone by at least once to see Mary since she’d arrived. She probably thought he hated her.

  He didn’t think he hated her. He couldn’t stir up a feeling about her either way, actually.

  “I did try to be nice to her,” he said. “I gave her the hint about Henry yesterday for the Union Battle.”

  Galo laughed. “I noticed she ignored that advice.”

  “Well, she clearly didn’t need an easy win.”

  “She’s practically as good as you with a sword.”

  “Let’s not get carried away,” Cas said.

  “I said ‘practically.’”

  Cas shot him an amused look, then sighed. “I could have tried harder. I should have gone to speak with her last night after the battle. It all just feels so awkward.”

  “I’m sure. But it will be more awkward if you never talk to her at all.”

  “Fine,” he said, taking a step back and glancing at Mary. “But if she keeps refusing to smile at me, I’m going to stop trying.”

  “Maybe you should smile first.”

  “Free minute is over.”

  “Yes, Your Highness.” Galo laughed and returned to his spot near the wall.

  Cas headed back to the front of the room, trying to twist his face into an appropriate expression. There. He was smiling. Sort of.

  “Would you like to dance?” he asked Mary, extending his hand to her. He was going to have to think of something to talk about while they danced, but at least it was a start.

  “Oh yes!” his mother exclaimed before Mary could reply. She gestured at the musicians, and they stopped playing. “The traditional wedding dance.”

  “She didn’t have time to learn it, Mother,” Cas said. “We can just dance to something else.”

  “It’s tradition! You can lead her, Cas.”

  “I really don’t—”

  “I can do it,” Mary interrupted. Her gaze had gone hard, as if he’d insulted her. He hadn’t meant to imply she couldn’t do it; he was simply trying to spare her the embarrassment.

  “Let’s dance, then,” he said, holding his hand out to her again.

  She stood, her palm cool as she slipped it into his. She glanced at him, then at the room in front of them, where people had scattered off the dance floor. The musicians in back straightened in their chairs, bows poised across strings.

  “I didn�
��t know we’d be the only ones,” she said as he led her to the center of the room.

  “Regret this decision now?” he asked.

  She bit her lip.

  “You’ll be fine.” He grasped her right hand firmly in his left and placed his other on the center of her back. “I’m going backward and you’re coming forward first,” he said quietly. “Put your hand on my shoulder.”

  Her gaze stayed steady with his as she followed his instructions. He hadn’t noticed that her dark eyes were flecked with gold, and now that he was close enough to see it, he didn’t want to look away.

  The music started, and he took a step, putting light pressure on her back. She came with him, her skirt swishing around her feet.

  “Side,” he said quietly. “Back, back.”

  She took to the steps quickly, letting him push and tug her around the dance floor. He straightened their arms, bringing his body against hers for a brief moment.

  “Spin,” he said, lifting their hands. She did a quick spin. When she placed her hand on his shoulder again, her eyes blazed with a fire that made him want to pull her closer.

  He moved faster, quietly giving her some of the steps under his breath. He realized too late she was going the wrong way, and instead of letting her crash right into him, he tightened the arm around her waist and whisked her off the ground. He spun around, placing her on the ground again, and the people around them all clapped like it had been planned.

  She gave him a grateful smile, her steps more confident as they continued dancing.

  “I noticed you ignored my suggestion yesterday,” he said softly. “For the Union Battle.”

  “I thought it might be a trap.”

  “A trap?”

  “Yes. Like part of the tradition was trying to steer me to the easy choice, to see if I took it.”

  He laughed softly. “You’re not terribly trusting, are you?”

  “No.”

  He moved his hand from her back as he spun her, then returned it. He wasn’t sure what to say to that.

  “It wasn’t a trap, then?” she asked.